Nine Virtues
by Seinaru Kibou no Tenshi
Summary: A series of vignettes exploring the implications and meanings of each character's crest. (Up: Knowledge - Koushirou, Kindness - Ken)
1. Knowledge: Koushirou

This is something of a pet project of mine. It is partially inspired by Emily Dickinson's poetry where she frequently takes a word and explores the inner lexical landscape of it. ("Hope is a thing with feathers" or "Presentiment is the long shadow on the lawn", if you want two examples.) It is also partially inspired by my interest in what the children's crests represent and why they got them. The final motivation is that I tend to write about certain characters, and want to expand my repertoire. When finished, it'll consist of eight vignettes, each about a crest and its bearer. They should be read as stand-alone pieces. Otherwise, enjoy!  
  
For this one, I should acknowledge the inspiration of Amy Tan's "The Bonesetter's Daughter" (for the opening line) and Jeanette Winterson's "Oranges are Not the Only Fruit" (for thoughts about adoption and for some stylistic features). If you've read either, you'll see the similarities. If not, they're both amazing novels, so add them to your reading lists!  
  
I should also say that I've fiddled Koushirou's history a bit. In the show, he seems to have been the son of one of Izumi-san's colleagues, who died in a car crash. In this one, it's a more regular adoption.  
  
---  
  
KNOWLEDGE: KOUSHIROU  
  
---  
  
What fortitude the soul contains That it can so endure The accent of a coming foot, The opening of a door! ~ Emily Dickinson  
  
---  
  
My name is Izumi Koushirou, and these are the things I know about myself:  
  
I'm ten years old.  
  
I'm in class 5-A at elementary school.  
  
I live in Odaiba.  
  
My parents are not my real parents.  
  
I overheard them talking last night, when they thought I was asleep. I had just climbed out of bed to get a glass of water. The door was open a crack, light shining through it in a long stripe across the floor. It let me hear everything they said as well.  
  
"We'll have to tell him one day, Keiko," my father was saying, "He's going to find out about it sooner or later, and he'll be hurt we didn't trust him enough to tell him."  
  
"I know," my mother replied softly, "It's just . . . I don't want to think that he's not my real son. I want to put the whole thing behind us, and move on as a family. Besides, I've had him since he was a baby, since before he even opened his eyes, so what does it matter that I didn't give birth to him?"  
  
"It might matter to Koushirou," he replied, "And he has a right to know."  
  
"But what if he goes back to her?" her voice was a tortured whisper, "I can't lose him. I can't."  
  
My ears ringing with their words, I slumped onto the floor and drew my knees up to my chest.  
  
At that moment, all the mysteries of my life suddenly made sense to me. I understood why there were no pictures of my mom when she was pregnant or when she was in hospital. Why my dad kept his 'important papers' locked away from me in a safe. Why I don't look like either of my parents. And why that strange woman had come to visit me three years ago.  
  
Not that my mom let me see her. I remember I was sitting at the table, doing my maths homework, when the knock at the door came. She came out of the kitchen, drying her hands on a dishcloth, and went to answer it. She had only opened the door a fraction before she told me in a very quiet voice to go to my room and work there. I was curious and didn't want to go, but she sounded too serious to disobey. So, I picked up my books and went. As I passed the front-door, however, I glanced to the side and saw the strange woman standing there. She was very young and pretty with fluffy, red hair like mine and almost black eyes like mine. I guessed she was some family of ours, and wondered why my mom didn't want me meeting her. She lifted her hand when she saw me, but I was too afraid of my mom getting mad to return the greeting.  
  
I went to my room and sat at my desk, spreading out my books in front of me again. Through the walls and the door, I could hear angry voices raised in an argument. I didn't know why my mom had bothered to send me to my room, because I could hear every word they were saying and none of them made sense.  
  
"What are you doing here?"  
  
"Can I see him, please?"  
  
"You have no rights here," my mother sounded adamant, "You signed away all your rights when you were fifteen."  
  
"I was young and stupid. I made a mistake, and have regretted it ever since. If I could just . . . ."  
  
"Absolutely not," my mom cut the stranger off, "Get out of my home, or I will call the police. I'll get a restraining order placed on you so you can't come within fifty feet of the apartment block."  
  
"But . . . ."  
  
"Get out."  
  
I heard the door slam. A few moments later, my mom came into my room. Keeping my head bent over my maths, I pretended that I hadn't heard their conversation. Where the numbers on the page had made perfect sense before, however, they were now a jumble of shapes. I kept hearing her words over and over again - "I want to see him". She had meant me. Why had she wanted to see me? Why had she looked like me? Deep inside my heart, I must have known the answer, but didn't want to admit it to myself.  
  
I was just about to ask my mother who the strange woman was, when she put her arms around my shoulders and hugged me to her. She hugged me to her so tightly and fiercely that my own arms hurt from it. I looked up at her, and saw that her eyes were shiny with tears. And I knew we wouldn't talk about her that day or any day after it.  
  
A few weeks later, we moved away from that block of apartments. My parents didn't tell me the reason, but I guessed it had to do with her.  
  
Anyway, the woman never came back to our house after it, and I more or less forgot about her. It isn't difficult to forget things or people you don't want to remember. Sitting there on the cold floor, however, the memory of her rushed back into my head. I remembered the way her hair had fluffed around her young face, and the way that her black eyes had looked sad. I could almost see her standing in front of me and lifting a nervous hand to me. She was my real mother, and my mom hadn't let me see her!  
  
I was so furious with her that I got to my feet and marched into the lounge. I didn't know what I was going to say or do, anymore than I knew what was going to happen. My bedroom door banged behind me. Slowly, my parents turned to face me. My dad's arm was around my mom's shoulders, and her eyes were red and wet. Her mouth opened and closed like a goldfish's, but no words came out of it. Her hands were twisting in her lap.  
  
In a second, all my anger vanished, because she was my mom too. She was more my mom than the strange woman who had come to the house. And she was crying because she thought I would go back to the strange woman when I knew; because she thought it would matter that she hadn't given birth to me.  
  
"So you know, Koushirou-chan," my dad said.  
  
I looked at my mom, saw the pain on her face and I knew there was only one reply I could make: "Know what, tou-san? I just came to get a glass of water."  
  
"Then get it and hurry back to bed," there was something like relief in my dad's voice, "It's past your bedtime."  
  
The next morning - this morning - everyone acted like nothing had happened. Everything seemed so normal. My mom cooked eggs for breakfast and put too much salt on them as usual. My dad read the newspaper and grumbled over the financials as usual. I checked my e-mail on the computer before packing my bags for school as usual. On the outside, it was just another morning in the Izumi house. On the inside, however, everything was different.  
  
I know I'm adopted.  
  
My parents aren't stupid, so they know that I know.  
  
But we're all happier pretending that we don't.  
  
*  
  
THE END  
  
* 


	2. Kindness: Ken

_Here's the second in my series of vignettes about the Chosen Children and their Crests. I wasn't initially going to do Ken, but I came up with an idea for him and thought it would be worth writing for sake of completeness. After all, there are nine crests, so there should be nine stories. _

_Just a little disclaimer in advance: I don't get Ken. I rewatched all his redemption episodes before rewriting this. I listened to his image song a couple of times, while muttering "Paku Romi can't sing" many times. I even styled my hair like his. So, I'd be grateful if you'd tell me if all of that helped and he's in character in this place. If he's not, tell me where I went wrong. I want to understand Ken! ^.^;;  _

_Oh, and I don't intend to do Daisuke, Miyako or Iori at the moment. However, you're currently reading a story I didn't plan writing, so you may yet see those three as well. I actually have an idea for a Daisuke vignette, which a few more rounds of "Goggle Boy" might make me put down on pixel and screen . . . _

KINDNESS: KEN

****

_I never lost as much but twice,_

_And that was in the sod;_

_Twice have I stood a beggar_

_Before the door of God!_

_Angels, twice descending,_

_Reimbursed my store._

_Burglar, banker, father,_

_I am poor once more! _

_~ Emily Dickinson_

****

Last week, I killed my only friend. 

I killed you.

You must have known it would happen one day. You must have known what sort of person I really was, what I was capable of doing.  You kept saying that I was kind, you kept saying I was a good person, but you lied. You must have lied. You were with me as I conquered the Digital World, as I took over area after area and enslaved its inhabitants. You saw what I did to them. I made them work until they fell from exhaustion. I experimented on them to come up with more abominations. I forced to them fight each other to amuse me. I did all of that, and I didn't feel any remorse for it while I was doing it. 

No, I was not kind and you lied. 

You must have known what I really was like, because I . . .

I . . . . 

I can't speak about the terrible things I did to you. I can't even think about them without wanting to throw up. I can't. I just  . . . .

No, I did those things to you, and I have to confess to them. I have to face up to them one by one by one, even though they hurt like the blows of a whip: 

I beat you.

I whipped you. 

I kicked you. 

I screamed at you.

I  told you that you were worthless.

I killed you. 

In the end, you . . . you didn't die by my hand, but I killed you all the same. You died giving all your power to Holimon, so that Kimeramon could be defeated, so that I could be defeated. After you knocked me to the ground, I remember looking across at you in hatred and seeing a beam of brilliant light arcing from your body towards the Digimon in the sky. Then, Holimon began glowing brighter than the sun and the entire world went white.When my eyes refocussed and I looked around me, I knew I had been defeated. Kimeramon was gone. The other kids were standing over me, their Digimon in their arms. And you were lying in the sand some feet away from me. And then . . . . and then . . . . 

And then I realised it all had been real, because I'd seen those Digimon in the real world. They had been at the soccer game; they had been sitting in the stands with their partners. How could I have not realised that before? How could I never have made that connection in the past? How could a genius be so stupid? I had thought it was a game, a game I had played and lost, but it had all been real. Everything I'd done to the other Digimon, everything I'd done to those kids, everything I'd done to you, it had all been real. 

All I could do was scream. 

Everything fell away from me in a second. 

And I wasn't the Digimon Kaizer anymore; I was just . . . Ken. 

Blinded by tears and dust, I crawled across the sands to where you were lying. You were barely breathing - your sides rose and fell so slowly and shallowly - and I knew you were dying. I took you in my arms. I had no words to apologise to you, to thank you, to beg you to stay with me because you were my only friend. You smiled at me, and told me that you always knew I'd remember who I really was. And then . . . and then . . . you were gone.

You died, so I could remember what kindness was. 

That night, I prayed for the first time since Osamu had died. I did not ask forgiveness for my own sins that night, because I doubted that there was enough grace in the world to make me clean again. _Kaa-san had always said that God could forgive anything, that He was infinite kindness and compassion, but I knew my sins were unforgivable. Like the demons that had once been angels, I'd fallen too far for redemption. I was living in hell and it was of my own making. But I prayed for you. I prayed that you would come back to life. Selfishly, I prayed you would come back to me. (1)_

God must have been listening, because He gave me a second chance, despite everything I did. I know I didn't deserve one, but He gave it to me anyway in his grace and I'm not going to waste it. You're my second chance, Minomon. You're my only chance to redeem myself. 

So, that's why I'm standing in the doorway of my room, watching you bounce up and down on my bed, wondering what to say to you. 

I killed you. 

You died for me.

Because of you, I know what kindness is and it's not the opposite of cruelty.

Thank you. 

Instead, I step forward and say shyly, "Do you want me to teach you how to blow bubbles, Minomon?" 

***

THE BEGINNING

***

NOTES:

(1) Ken is Christian. I'm not inventing his religious beliefs. Listen to the babble in _Daisuke to Ken no Kaimono Carol (= Daisuke and Ken's Shopping Carol) one day, and you'll hear him tell Daisuke that Christmas is a very special season because it was when the Saviour was born and we should all celebrate it for that reason. Daisuke's not impressed at all. He just wants puresento to paati to keki! ^.~ _

***

Next up: Light. 


End file.
